


a new way to bleed

by days4daisy



Category: Kong: Skull Island (2017)
Genre: Community: seasonofkink, Dubious Sexual Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Fantasy, Suicidal Thoughts, implied/referenced PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: When Conrad closes his eyes, he sees a mouth larger than his body. A tongue, pink and thick, darts out to greet him.





	a new way to bleed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Season of Kink bingo square: Fantasies
> 
> aka, finally an excuse to write this movie and these two! *_* (Yes, I do ship this. Hard. I doubt it's even the weirdest thing I ship to be honest XD) Enjoy!

Conrad wakes with a hand clamped to his chest. He claws at the buckles of his shoulder holster until he can tear its straps down. Goosebumps blister Conrad's skin. He needs to move.

Conrad would prefer an episode to this. They are not pretty, sudden panic and shaking, but at least episodes are understandable. Those with Conrad’s history expect the haunting of war ghosts.

A haze of smoke lingers over their camp site. Monarch agents Hill and Anderson sleep by his side, one curled at the head of his bedroll, the other at his feet.

Across the charred remains of their fire, Weaver looks on. Conrad reads her concern and the respect in her silence. She has no way of knowing that this is not an episode, that it's something far worse. Weaver offers kind eyes and an invitation to speak. Conrad rises instead. “I’ll take next watch.”

“It’s supposed to be Anderson,” Weaver says. Her all-too-knowing curiosity stops shy of suspicion. Weaver was not a soldier but, like Conrad, she's seen enough war. Neither wants to argue over things not worth fighting for.

Conrad offers a smile that must be less than convincing. “I’m awake, Anderson is not.” He pulls a pistol from his holster. “I’ll be right back.”

Weaver’s smile turns crooked. “You know where we are,” she says. “Don’t jinx it.” Conrad scoffs as he steps over Hill’s sleeping body.

The path to the beach has become familiar on these later visits to Skull Island. Boot marks dried into the dirt lead the way. Conrad’s own stand among the relics; this is his sixth return to Skull Island. He has nowhere near the Iwi’s familiarity, but he feels surefooted as he cuts through the tree line.

The carnivores rarely venture to this shore, choosing to hunt on the shallow side of the ridge. Conrad keeps his pistol poised anyway. Skull Island is no stranger to surprises.

He detects no movement on the beach - no ominous ripple of water or shiver of approaching footsteps. The moon is full tonight, a grand silver disc casting a spotlight across the water.

With relief comes the return of panic. Conrad sits on the sand, gun dangled on a knee. He mops sweat from his brow with a forearm.

The first time this happened, Conrad chalked it up to the start of a chill. On Skull Island, one’s brain can fall victim to any number of assailants. Then, it happened another night. And another. Conrad found his well of excuses dry.

His relief is audible when he shrugs out of his shirt. The cool air is blissful on his nerve-fevered chest. Conrad presses a hand to the pulse point unter his jaw. Too fast, not steady. “Breathe,” he tells himself. “Come on.” When Conrad closes his eyes, he sees a mouth larger than his body. A tongue, pink and thick, darts out to greet him.

Conrad stumbles to the water’s edge and kicks out of his boots. Slow waves nip at his toes. Conrad splashes his face; frigid drops kiss his eyes and tease around his mouth. He pauses, a wet hand over his lips.

Conrad dreamed of one finger tonight. His clothes, peeled off with the smooth strip of a nail. That one ravenous finger claimed him by touch alone. Conrad's back, kneaded from neck to ass in one motion. Kong’s skin was soft as the finest leather. Conrad tried to stop it. He wanted to rise, to run, but the ground was gone. The beast lifted his naked body like a speck of dust.

One swipe of Kong's tongue was ecstasy. Conrad moaned in his dream; he writhed and babbled. Does Weaver hear him on nights like these? Does she imagine him to be in the throes of some nightmare? Or can she hear the difference? Does she know?

His erection would be nothing to a thing like Kong. His leaking cock, a mere drop for Kong’s wandering tongue. In dreams, Kong tastes anyway. He can, he's king and needs no other reason.

Conrad scrubs his red-rimmed eyes. “Stop,” he orders himself. “Breathe.” This is madness, it must be. Skull Island is playing tricks on him, as it has to many who came before. “Breathe,” he hisses again, shuddering at the strain of his cock against his pants. Cold water trickles down his back and soaks into his hair. Conrad shivers at its temperature and the contrasting heat of his body.

The water moves; one great, sudden tremor. Conrad stands bone-straight.

Another mighty shiver, and he appears, a hulking shadow from behind a mountain. The beast’s eyes gleam like pools of oil under the silver moon. Conrad’s breath chokes in his throat.

From the depths of the water, Kong observes him. Whatever Kong's purpose for venturing out at this hour, Conrad's presence distracts him. Perhaps he sensed Conrad from the start. Conrad’s heart lurches at the thought.

Conrad stares at the beast with wide, awe-glazed eyes. Kong is unfathomable, even after so many returns to the island. “You’ve ruined me,” Conrad hisses. “You’ve ruined everyone.”

Kong’s frown deepens, and strict lines crease his brow. A low sound mutters from him.

Conrad exhale becomes a laugh. “You could kill me without thought,” he says. “Do you know how many people have tried? Even I thought I could-” His voice dissolves into anxious silence.

Another sound from the beast, purr-like, intoxicating. Conrad’s chuckle cracks. He feels light-headed, worthy of an institution. Perhaps this is what Skull Island does. Perhaps he is slowly, sweetly, going mad.

Conrad’s eyes reflect the ocean and his own humiliation. “Is this what you want?” he whispers. Holding the creature’s gaze, he palms himself through his pants. He is hard, of course. Conrad grinds the heel of his palm down, and sensation seizes the small of his back. The water on his skin descends like mischievous tongues.

With shaking fingers, Conrad frees his heavy cock. He is hot to the touch, blushed between pale fingers. Conrad touches himself, staring at the beast. Kong could kill him now if he wished. One step, one flattened hand. Kong could kill everyone and everything. Conrad shudders and thrusts into his own clasped hand. He bares himself to the creature, waiting to die.

Conrad knows it now; he was ready after his discharge. He drank and wagered in Saigon, baiting death, toying with it. Instead, Randa appeared at Conrad's table to offer a different kind of downfall. Money, a foolish mission, and the wonder of the natural world.

Conrad comes into his fingers, a groan on his lips. The visage of the great beast swims in and out of view. Fresh heat warms Conrad’s face, and his tongue goes dry. Kong watches, eyes fixed to Conrad’s body.

Blowing out a weary breath, Conrad wipes his stained hand on his stomach. He stares at Kong; angry, afraid.

Finally, the creature turns away. The ground shudders under Kong’s mighty steps. He retreats to the mountain line, his movements powerful and sure.

For a moment, he pauses. From this new angle, Conrad sees more than blackness in Kong’s eyes. They are brown, irises lit by fiery strokes of gold.

Kong huffs back at Conrad. He does so with...a smile?

Conrad stands unmoving until the beast disappears from sight.

*The End*


End file.
